Rebirth Of The Dove
by I'm Your Grandma
Summary: Sage Paloma, a young and mysteriously gifted Shadowhunter abandoned the Bourgeoisie Institute, An ancient, high profile institution known for producing exceptional Nephilim. After a brutal death involving a former lover and an innocent mundane, Sage found herself wondering the streets. Little did she know, she'd return to an Institute with a stripped name and on the Clave Blacklist
1. Chapter 1: Cigarettes And Embers

Book:

Rebirth Of The Dove

Chapter One:

Cigarettes And Embers

The night was dark. Very dark. It sat there, a dark woven blanket lain over the rift between sky and land. Sage leaned against the side of the shutdown Burger King; a burnt out cigarette leaning over the edge of her bruised bottom lip, embers falling to the floor and turning to ash in the dead of the night. She watched them, the only living non residual light within five square miles. The reflections danced a mayfly's dance between birth and a short-lived life within her exhausted eyes. Slowly, she raised a hand to catch one of the ashen meteorites, wincing as it blazed through the thick layers of her toughened skin. The small light in her palm faded quickly and winded out of existence. She frowned, her eyebrows furrowing, and clenched her fist angrily. "Is that all you've got for me? Well… Is it?" Her voice rose, a fierce scissor cut through the smoky velvet darkness. "PATHETIC!" She cried, tossing the soot and burned skin onto the eroded street corner. She gasped and brandished a heavily marked silver soaked blade from her crimson colored trench coat.

"Cigarettes and embers," a calm voice crept from behind the shadowed corners of the building behind her.

"You're not going to end your 'suffering' very quickly like that." The sarcastic tone manifested itself within a quick flash of movement.

"Waraxe. Don't you have some beach to be patrolling?" Sage growled, and sheathed the blade.

"Because I look like a surfer, yeah that's nice." He rolled his eyes, and feathered a stray, almost bleached blond strand of hair from his face. "Look Paloma, we need you back, the territory raids have actually become a little more than the standard annoyance. I promise it'll look better than wherever it is that you're spending your nights." He surveyed the foreground, dust, rats, and trashed cycloned on the windy night. He sniffed and flinched. "Probably smell a lot better too, that's is if you haven't developed hemophobia."

"How funny," she raised her head and met his excited gaze, a quick search of his face revealed... Nothing... Absolutely nothing. As usual, no scars, no cuts, bruises, blood stains, marks or buffs. Perfect. The tall pale man always remained perfect. She raised a hand, scarred, cut, bruised, blood-stained, marked, and buffed to her face. Imperfect. the word burned bright like a Vegas street sign within her mind. "Go back. Please." The hand fell to her side. "That is not my home anymore, I'm sorry but I don't have the power to he-"

"The power or the will?!" The screech came forcibly with a forceful palm to the wall behind Sage.

"Does it matter?" She heaved, shoving the lean brightly clothed one back. Her eyes ardent with a heavy lack of self-control.

The silence reclaimed the dark abandoned street corner as the two stopped and stood in the light rain. A quarter inch of murky rainwater ran a cluttered course into the drain at her feet. Now quiet, they could hear the small matter of life that erupted under their feet. Insects diving into the underdeveloped puddles occupying the street's various potholes. Small mammals scurrying from the drains grazing on the tiny six legged creatures. One cretin, unidentifiable by any distinguishing features save for a matted coat and disfigured leg, attempted to receive its share of the feast, but found it's opportunity cut short as a rather famine fleshed feline found what had to be her first meal in months.

"Miles, I-"

"Save it, I can tell I'm wasting time here, I have to get back." he reached into his coat and retrieved a hat to shield himself, albeit a little late given his thoroughly drenched thick bushel of hair. He turned around sealing the cap to his head. "We've lost enough friends." He muttered meandering slowly out of normal earshot.

"What?!" Sage stood rigid behind him.

"Well well, someone's gotten faster." He stood facing the same direction.

"Who died Miles?!"

"I mean still not faster than me but, still pretty-"

"Who. Died. Waraxe?!"

"Like a little Mexican Speedy Gonzales." He smiled, his back to her.

"MILES WHO THE FUCK DIED?!" Her tear ducts began to itch, a sensation she had begun to grow accustomed too as of late.

"Wait a second, he's already Mexican. I mean, the ethnicity is in the name. Well don't I feel stupid?"

"Forget it," she wrapped her arms around herself, turning, not wanting to walk away.

"There. That's what is was." He stood in front of her staunch and hard, as tall as could be. "So that's how easy it is to walk away? To walk away from this turf war? To walk away from your friends?"

"Please. Just go away." She whimpered, her head down.

"No." He slid a finger under her chin and brought her gaze to his. Her wet face salted between the pooling of rainwater and tears. His smile had faded, traded with a stern glare, fiery green eyes alive with a sense of hatred, desperation and sadness.

"Just tell me who fell." She threw her arms around him. Leather sleeves sloshing, as they grew steadily heavier.

"Tzar," he whispered wryly and awaited a response. "Well aren't you gonna say something, curse, scream, shout?" His voiced trailed, almost as if he stood in thought.

"I..." She looked up and searched his face. Nothing, no sadness, nor anger, nor hate. But there was something. Something left over from a lifetime of fighting, a lifetime of constant battle: the absence of... Perfection. For the first time in years she could see all the lines of his face, as faint as they were, she could see the scars, she could see the cuts, she could see the bruises, she could see the blood stains, she could see the marks, she could see the buffs, they were hard to make out in the dark of the night but she could see them.

"I'll go.

Author's Note:

If the positioning of the characters seem a little inconsistent, it is due to the fact that Shadowhunters in The Mortal Instruments series are known to move very fast. Within this chapter the characters are moving in between certain sequences of their conversation.

P.s:

This is my first attempt at fanfiction. However, with that sad, please critique as you see fit. Reviews are very welcome, and desired.


	2. Chapter 2: The Train Ride

Book:

Rebirth Of The Dove

Chapter Two:

The Train Ride

Shadowhunter Miles Waraxe, known for his superior stealth, reconnaissance, and tracking expertise has been tasked with the locating and retrieval of his longtime friend and retired partner Sage Paloma.

Finding the young Nephilim within a small rundown area of a relativity abandoned non Clave sanctioned city, he managed to kindle a long dead flame within the pits of her sanity with information of a recently deceased ally.

It is now the morning after. They converse whilst traversing by way of a speeding train.

"Like a bunch of drunk idiots, we finally stumble onto whatever monster that has been terrorizing the outer city's breeding grounds," Miles's hectic laughter christened the newly arriving day. Pinkish orange rays flayed over the seals of the open windows that rattled with the speeding train. "Come to think of it, I think Earthchild actually had been a lil tipsy." He watched the steel ceiling, his voice tireless; seventy two hours on full alert showing no physical existence.

"Wouldn't be the first time she showed up half-cocked to her own handpicked assignment." Sage closed her eyes, letting the mountain chilled air fall over her face. Her left arm twitched sitting interlaced with Miles's right. A grave purple rune layered over the both of their arms slowly pulsated between the two of them; it was easier to pose as a couple on a crowded train enjoying a bright dawn ride, than to disguise themselves with the glamour that would render them invisible.

"Well I guess she makes up for it in other ways." His grin seemed to glaze over his face, reminiscent of a mundane families' early Sunday mornings.

"Que?"

"Well you remember her becoming the youngest field medic of our Institute's history?" He turned to face her, soft light accenting his thin, almost transparent features; white lines, the shells of the faded runes drawn on by the sharp edges of a Steele.

"Do I remember?" She turned her head, and blew back black bangs from an inquisitive face. "How could I not? Viola was no ordinary Nephilim, an extensive knowledge on every demon venom antidote created in the past decade, even cementing a few of her own in several widely used handbooks. Figured out the Blood Transmutation spell to alter her own body fluids into a natural toxin filter from a six hundred year old Celtic warlock manuscript. The bitch could barely even read the damn thing. All of this at the age of sixteen."

"Nothing like being woken up at two thirty in the morning by the Clave's personal S.W.A.T team."

"I'd almost forgotten about that." She exhaled, dust forming clouds in the chilled air. The train thundered along under an extended underpass. Whirling dirt devils danced within the pockets of wind that was created between the oncoming winter and outgoing autumn.

"Well it was definitely worth it seeing as this sexy beast is the direct result of the whole gnarly ordeal." He carefully shook his wrist, inadvertently causing the violet rune to pulsate rapidly. As it receded, a thin red layer of skin formed on their arms. "I think that means it's almost done."

"Wait, really? I remember it taking a lot longer than that," she shifted her glance to her arm, finding the area of skin that had been sliced off in order to perform the process. The epidermis of the removed area had to be marked with an _Iratze_ and the under layer marked with a repairing and sealing rune amongst a few other strange procedures. It was a bloody and offsetting measure that had to be taken, but as she flexed the spot she could see that it had healed over as had the years of damage that she'd sustained while away. A bit of Miles's skin, which had to mirror mark the removed piece of hers had already mutated and stitched itself into the vacant area. "Groady."

"The Clave thought so too." He squeezed her, "I believe that was the second time in the Institute's history that it came under Clave seizure, so one can only imagine the look on everyone's face when they raided us from our rooms and forced us into the medical bay."

"I wanted to Seraph someone in the carotid when they brought her into the room," she gripped onto her weapon. An old man doddering down the walkway gasped at the sight of the silver dagger. She grunted and he scuttled down to his seat. "She was in shackles with an enchanted binding cuff around her throat, fourteen runes set for six different species."

"Seventeen."

"What?!"

"Three of the runes came from an experimental source." An apologetic look mushed his profile. "After some digging, we found that three of the runes had never been processed and approved for active field usage."

"Those demons." She wanted to regurgitate whatever remained of her 8:00 Am. Crunchwrap from the day before.

"That's the life we lead as Nephilim, my child. A life filled with the deepest of dark Nightmares, pain and suffering remains our waking light, and we set our bed with lies for our nights sleep."

"That's a quote from Instructor Thompson," she eyed him curiously. "I thought you hated the guy, never listened to a word he said I remember."

"Things change when your best friend becomes untraceable for two years." He frowned absent-mindedly, not looking up at her, reflex-toned muscles caused him to go frigid. Sadness without combat was not exactly something he was comfortable with. His shoulder muscles twitched impatiently, maybe it was the slight awkwardness of the moment, or maybe even the fact that outside of covert missions, time seemed to move slower than a tortoise, but he was sure they should have arrived by now, if not they should at least be nearing the Bourgeoisie.

"But that's the subject for another day."

"Well this was definitely a big help." She twirled a battered Steele between her fingers. The chipped silvery tool shined dimly with the warmth of her hands, ready to seal an aiding rune into her flesh.

"Hand it over," he squinted, upon receiving the item he lowered his head, exhaled, and tossed it through the window.

"What the hell damn guy?!"

"Institute Commissioner knew you wouldn't take care of yours," he flipped open an upper compartment on his combat boot, years of flexibility training funneled into becoming a pretzel assassin. "Make it yours."

She nodded, closed her eyes, and wrapped her palms around the Stele. The object began to glow white hot, and tremble within her grip. An unclaimed Stele normally resembles a long deformed silvery white stick. However, when taken into the hands of a new user, the Adamas, a heavenly metal commonly fitted into blades, witchlights, and structures utilized by the Nephilim, slightly alters the build and shape of itself, mirroring the users attitude and mindset. She stared at the Steele as the light emanating from it began to die. _Nothing changed,_ the thought came with a disappointing thump to her mentality. She handed the tool to her partner. Miles returned the nod, raising a confident hand to her shoulder, his palm gliding upwards of her neck. A heated grin broke out along his face. "Whoa there surfer boy, a little Tacobell and you get handsy."

"I was my last dollar."

"Be gentle. It has been a while." Her eyes fluttered shut as she reclined a bit.

"Oh, bravo. Brilliance had befallen us. Now shut up and allow me to present my craft." Waraxe pressed the tool to the bare skin of her throat. At point contact it felt like a thin sliver of ice was being pressed into her throat. Just shy of drawing blood, but the all-too-familiar touch of white hot soon reclaimed her skin as a rune Miles commonly used and perfected manifested. The Silent rune. The tracing burned dimly for a few seconds, and went out, leaving a mark in place. She clapped her hands. Nothing. "It works."

"Just in time," he swiveled his head toward the open window again. White blond hair etched over the pane and blasted in the wind. The mass was immediately thrown back by the high speed of the air battering against his forehead. "Our stop is coming up." The Bourgeoisie Institute flickered in the distant, glamour peeling itself away with their nearing proximity. The sight was one to behold, the massive castle-like building stood astute from the grounds surrounding it, where there stood a few small trees and a glistening pond. Yet everything around failed to present a calm surrounding. It was a rather hellish sight, blades, blood and bones decorated the less than hollowed earth. He calmly surveyed what had proven to be little more than a battleground, every square inch a hundred years of war between the dark and the light; the free will of evil, and the virtue of a soldier. A real estate agent's nightmare, save for the Bourgeoisie herself. She was much grander and much more massive than the average Institute belonging to the average clan of Nephilim. With her large algae colored walls, and blue draperies. If only the sheepish mundane could lay a true eye upon her sacred magnificence. Miles shuddered, his back awash with cool sweat. He could call the place home for another forty years, and yet would freeze in place eyeing what seemed like a beast, alive and angry, yet graceful as it slept. He shook his head, if this truly is the effect the Institute had on him everyday, then what must she feel? "Hey, Paloma?" She looked him in the face and smiled.

"Wassup?"

"Blink." He studied her face. What sat beside him resembled nothing of the day before. No sunken lines riding out the youthfulness of her eyes. No banked skin harboring salt laden tears.

She shot him a quizzical glance as he watched her intently. Rarely was it that she questioned a demand from him, but Sage did as she was told. Her eyes widened as the background readjusted itself and Miles's face became a blurred illusory fragment. With a flash and a bang, black lines seemed to cloud and surround her vision as if a cinematic horror show had laid claim to what she could see. Her heart skipped a beat and a slight sickness set the world on a rotary axis. The small gasp that escaped her lungs was just sharp enough to break through the governance of the silent rune that had begun to ash out over her neck.

"You can still back out if you want. I'll tell the Commissioner that I just wasn't as good as I thought I was." He patted at her shoulder.

"Not a chance, I can do this," she issued a reluctant and cheesy thumbs up. "Besides, he would see right through you. Marked or not."

"Well if you think so." He laughed, rubbing his forearm against the back of his head.

"Oh shut up." She could feel her heartbeat slow down considerably. Miles's arrogance had a habit of getting on any and all nerves, but she appreciated the sentiment. "Sangano."

Author's Note:

For those wondering where the _Mortal Instruments_ are in this Mortal Instruments fan series, I apologize, but they will not be the main focus within the story. Neither will the main cast such as Clary, Jace, Alec, Magnus, Isabelle, or Simon. Don't be disappointed as The _Mortal Instruments_ do have a planned story arc and a few of the main cast are scheduled to make more than a few appearances namely Magnus Bane.

Alright, that's about it. Please leave your comments, reviews, and follow the story so that you may catch chapter 3.

P.s:

Message me with any questions, and send me a _heart_ if you got the secret reference, you might just get messaged back on the first mention of Clary within the series.


	3. First Intermission

NOT A STORY CHAPTER!

Hello kiddos, Grandma here. Why don't you come into the kitchen, I'll make some cookies and tell you about some things that are going on with the story.

So first I wanted to give you chill'n somewhat of a notice; yes I know writers on this site don't usually do this, but I couldn't think of another way to work around it. What I'm trying to say is, I decided that with this series, I may be taking a few liberties with the way things work in the Mortal Instruments series. In case you are confused, I have a small example. In City Of Bones, Jace informs Clary that the Nephilim don't usually receive their marks until age twelve. Okay that's pretty straightforward and understandable. However, in the next chapter of my FanFic, it is revealed that Miles already has his at the age of ten. Another example of this is the fact that inter-dimensional travel is only accessible to Demons whereas in my Shadow Dove series, a select few Shadowhunters are indeed able. That was a hint towards book three.

Speaking of this series, I have planned for a total of four books to be released:

Rebirth Of The Dove

Rise Of The Dove

Fall Of The Dove

Death Of The Dove

Now I feel that, you guys will probably like to know the amount of chapters within each book after all curiosity is man's strongest nature, after cleaning your own damn dishes of course. I, your Grandmammy, am aiming for a range of fifteen to twenty chapters per book. Well little ones, that is pretty much all for this update. Remember as you're reading the series if you have any questions, feel free to send me a message.

Get home safely kiddos, and keep an ear out for any of my other projects. Grandma out *drops mic*


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